The Candy Monkey Raves

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It seems to me that the time has come to answer this call. I don't mean to suggest that writers should begin cranking out polemics. Art resides in an argument with the self, not with others.

What I am suggesting is that artists need not regard their political identities as wholly separate from their artistic ones -- especially given our unique historical circumstance. Look at what's happening: Our country is being led down a path of almost unprecedented moral negligence, a kind of suicidal selfishness in which the civic discourse has been reduced to bumper stickers. Those in power stand ready to vilify anyone who threatens their power.

My question is simple: When are we going to allow grief to inform our art? Will it take another war? The loss of a woman's right to control her body? The conversion of Social Security into a Wall Street boondoggle? To what extent is our polite silence a form of collaboration?

As I think about all this, I'm reminded of two anecdotes. The first stars Pablo Picasso. After the Nazis invaded Paris, they visited his studio. The officer in charge spotted Guernica and gazed at the canvas in dismay. "Did you do this?" he asked finally.

"No," Picasso said. "You did."

The second anecdote is of a more recent vintage. A famous author went to Boston just before the 2004 presidential election to do a fancy reading. He was introducing a story that dealt with an alcoholic when he made this comment: "As the last four years have shown, there are some people who are better off never drying out." (I am paraphrasing.)

After the reading, a woman approached the author and scolded him for making such an inappropriate comment. "But my dear woman," the author said. "Don't you realize? That's my job."

For excerpts from Steve Almond's new book of stories, The Evil B.B. Chow (Algonquin, 2005), check out www.bbchow.com. This essay first appeared on the literary blog mobylives.com.

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